The Wistful Skyline
The mirror in the bathroom of the hotel room did not reflect the room. It reflected the ocean, a churning, grey-green expanse that stretched out to a horizon which seemed to vibrate with a low, subsonic hum. Julian stood before it, his tie loosened, his shirt untucked, watching the water rise and fall in a rhythm that had no business existing inside a sterile suite on the fourteenth floor of...
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